The Return of the Prince
by Lichtherz
Summary: This time, it's about Scotland who works along with his brother (England) as a Mercenary. One day, a new recruit shows up who apparently lost his memory. The characters in this one are normal people, not nations. Magic and magical creatures will appear later, thus this is a fantasy fanfiction. There will be more Chapters, but I don't really know yet where this is going.
1. Chapter 1

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
My native language is not English, so please excuse my poor grammar or use of words.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: M

Genre: Fantasy

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Kirkland (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll name him this way in this story… Everyone gives him another name.. *le shrug*

_

The sound of metal smashing against metal was audible all the way. The mercenaries that called themselves the 'Celtic Spirit' fought against a group of lower knights. They had been given the quest by another, higher up knight, who wanted to do some clean up during springtime.  
The mercenaries sure had a hard time since their armoury was rather thin and not complete around their bodies. On the other hand, these lower knights had been lazy for training, had become weak, and so had their fortress. The construction was about to fall apart. A few stone walls were still standing tough, but the wood works among there would only work as fire wood.  
Their fighting had started in the morning with a tactical move on the side of the mercenaries.

The mercenaries were a group of random people which were led by the 'red fox' Alasdair Iain Kirkland, born from the Highlands in the northern region. That man was a real beast on the battlefield. His sword was about 2 Metres (6 feet) long and weighted a few kilograms (pounds). One stroke and it would cut through steel like a hot knife through butter. Also it was rumoured that he didn't have a soul. Then again he was a good strategist.  
Then, after him came the other commanders, the youngest of them being also the youngest brother of the leader who was told to be a bastard. Yet, Arthur Kirkland tried everything to come through. He was a tough working one, who also spent a lot of time on the defensive system of the group of mercenaries. He was a swift and professional archer.

For Alasdair, the battle was definitely taking too long. He didn't want to retreat, but they had to change the situation to their favour soon. The longer a battle took, the more certain it was that they would lose it. He looked around him nervously as he had sliced down another of the knights' henchmen and tried to make another plan quickly. Then he saw someone entering the battle field that clearly didn't belong there.  
A man with long blond flowing hair held in a tight ponytail and white silvery clothes rode onto the battle field, past the other fighters like he didn't care at all. The man drew his sword and sliced those that were not the mercenaries of Alasdair's group.  
The man's sword cut through the armour of the mercenaries enemies like it was nothing. It didn't even seem to be the work of the sword but the movements of the blonde man seemed completely effortless.

Finally, the siege was in fortune of Alasdair's mercenaries.  
The redhead rode towards the man he had been observing for a while. He saw the other stepping from his horse just now and their eyes met. Alasdair swore that these were the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen.  
The moment they just looked at each other seemed to last forever – but was harshly interrupted by an arrow that dug itself into the flesh of the mysterious helper.

"Yay, yay! That asshole! We won!", cheered Arthur and hopped next to his elder brother, who in turn just stared in disbelief.  
A hard fist collided with Arthur's face. "Ye eejit! You didn't have to shoot him! Haven't you seen that he has helped us?! He seemed to be on our side. …Tsk!"  
The redhead was angry. Sometimes he really hated his younger brother. He was still so reckless…The other blonde whose name he didn't know yet seemed to be not too serious injured – Lucky! Because Arthur was quite a good archer. Usually each of his shots were deadly…

Slowly, he opened his eyes…to an unfamiliar ceiling of a tent. He slowly sat up and found himself partly naked and wearing bandages around his torso. His shoulder felt numb.  
"Ah, you're finally awake."  
The blonde turned his head and saw a man with wild red hair and thick eyebrows looking into the tent. The blonde draped the blanket closer around his shoulders.  
"Shhh, It's a'richt. …do ye ken whit a'm saying?"  
"…Y-you were one of the mercenaries yesterday."  
"Yesterday? ye mean lest week …"  
The blonde flinched and looked at the redhead with anger, like it was his fault that a week had passed by without him knowing.

"Aye, it's bin a week sin you're bin wi' us. Mah wee brother shot an arrow intae yer shoulder. It seems that ye won't be able tae wield yer sword fur a lang time. Sorry aboot that."  
It was the right shoulder and unfortunately, the man rather wielded his sword with the right hand…  
"goddammnit…"  
" What's yer name? "

„C'moan, ye kin tell me. A'm Alasdair."  
„…Francis."

Alasdair still couldn't help himself but find a strange beauty in those strong indigo blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through him. It made him blush!  
"C-c'moan, A'm needin' tae chaynge yer bandages. Ye shuid be braw soon. We an' a' hud tae gie ye some painkillers."  
If it had been for the redhead, he'd have someone else changing the bandages. Touching the other – and that was acquired – was something rather uncomfortable. It was awkward, embarrassing… still, the redhead felt himself responsible for the other.

Francis held still during the whole procedure and tried to ignore the small stings of pain that had been hidden behind the numbing and secured feeling of the bandages. The hands of the other had been cool at first but soon warmed up.  
For now he simply took the time to look through the tent within his limited movement. He could see his clothes, his bit of armour and his sword. It didn't look like something has been taken away from him.  
"… We dinnae steal. Wur mercenaries.", Alasdair said, as he had obviously guessed where his guest had been looking at. "…Weil, efter th' siege haes bin won, we carried oan a bawherr. Ah hud tellt arthur tae tak' care o` yer horse. Arthur is ma wee brother 'n' th' yin wha shot ye. He seems tae be a little…angry whiles. Bit don't worry, he is guid tae animals. He loues thaim."  
Then the redhead asked, where Francis was from… if that was not too private.

"I… I have no memory of that. I just woke up some day… with a large hole in my mind and life."  
"You are… pretty good with the sword. Why don't you just join us for the moment? Or do you have other plans?"  
"No. …Actually… But I won't be able to do anything. You know?"  
"Until you're fully recovered I'd like you to be my guest. It's what we owe you, since my little brother has been the one…And you helped us back then. I have heard that you killed a good bunch of these."  
"Mmmhm. Why did you fight with them still?"  
"…We wantae become knights ourselves someday. 'n' mibbie more… lik' becoming nobles. Maist o' us wur orphans wha knew th' hardships o' living oan th' wynd, sae how come nae pat ourselves th'gither 'n' wirk tae achieve something in lee? …we juist wantae bide in gear some day in th' future. Bein' auld, pie-eater 'n' wealthy, richt?"  
"Seems like a good plan."

Alasdair blushed and was rather confused. Why was he talking so much…especially with that stranger here that didn't seem to have a past. Or didn't want to talk about it….? However, the redhead hardly ever spoke that much with his little brother.

The redhead eventually left and Francis quickly got dressed. Once being dressed, he could also go outside… he found himself inside a camp of a huge variety of people. Some seemed like drunkards, other like beggars. There were men of each age; from the 14 year old recruit up to the 70 year old veteran that possibly looked older than he really was. And they were also doing all sorts of things. Some were gathered around a campfire, chatting, telling stories, or just caring about what they had on the fire for dinnertime; others were doing household chores like repairing their clothes or tent since there didn't seem to be any women here… All in all it was a very relaxed atmosphere. Those mercenaries appeared like a very large family instead of an organised war troop.

Out of that chaos came a figure straight towards Francis. It was a young male with short blonde hair and thick eyebrows just like those of Alasdair…and he looked mad and stopped in front of the other.  
"L-look… I am sorry, okay? Okay!", came the rude apology.  
"Eh…?", Francis just looked confused at the other male.  
"I just apologised, alright? Memorise that for in case my blood brother asks."  
"…You're a weirdo."  
"Not more than you are. What's your name, bloke?"  
"…Francis."  
"…Francis, conceal that please.", Arthur motioned for Francis to cover his upper body that was still naked save for the bandage around the shoulder.

"I seriously don't know what your problem is. Why are you so rude?", Francis asked.  
"…", Arthur looked at the other and tried to calm down… it didn't work. "I …my brother is now constantly around you. It's always all about you. Do you know how annoying that is?"  
"Are you jealous? I don't know how it usually is between you two, but now obviously it's your own fault because you were the one who injured me like this. I can't fight how things are."  
The young blonde just made an annoyed sound and turned his heel. "Just that this is clear… as soon as you're good, you'll leave us!"  
"…We'll see about that."

Francis figured out by talking to the other members of the 'Celtic Spirits' that Alasdair was the leader and had far more to say than the little brother. Which was good.  
Now, they slowly packed together and went back onto the battle field, following new missions. Francis would watch guard on the side along with the veterans. These veterans told him a lot on how it all started.  
Before Alasdair became the chief of the mercenaries, his father had this role. Alasdair and Arthur were half-orphans now since their father had died in battle. But this was still pretty rare among the mercenary group here. Every now and then they would return home to the north, seeing their mother and the two other siblings that waited there, especially during winter. The rest of the mercenaries would then somewhat cluster around the villages in the north. The villagers didn't mind; they were prepared to have more mouths to feed. In turn, the majority of the mercenaries helped out with their power, fixing things and such.  
Some of the veterans then also stayed in the north and would not return to the battlefields. It was then just better for everyone.

It took about three weeks, then Francis started to train his right arm again. He was standing on a hill beside the camp, hidden from view by some trees. He was actually more or less slashing the air with a stick. If that worked out right, he would use the sword that was heavier due to the material.

Suddenly, Arthur appeared.  
"I'm here to challenge you. I'm curious what you are able to do in your weak state."  
"…I thought you were an archer."  
"I also know how to use a sword. Did you think my brother would allow me to only this weapon?", the younger blonde chuckled and drew his sword. It had about the same size as Francis', but didn't look as fine worked. The sword of Francis was a more refined one. The blade was somewhat thinner and the piece between the handle and the blade had ornaments in there.

The metal of their blades collided as soon as Francis had unsheathed his sword. The older blonde didn't know what he had done to the other, but it certainly won't stop until one of them had lost the battle. It was obviously a small fight for domination. Francis found that very silly and uncivilised. Like Stone Age men they had to go about this. Really now…  
"At least defend yourself!", demanded the blonde with the thick eyebrows.  
Francis noticed that his shoulder still hurt a lot and that he actually was not ready yet to face a battle. Instead he just gritted his teeth and tried to dodge the attacks of the other the best he could. He recognised that Arthur was obviously in his best condition…


	2. Chapter 2

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
My native language is not English, so please excuse my poor grammar or use of words.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: M

Genre: Fantasy

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Kirkland (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll name him this way in this story… Everyone gives him another name.. *le shrug*

_

When Alasdair arrived, his young brother and the soon-to-be member of the ‚Celtic Spirits' were already fighting, nailing their blades together.  
"Stoap this instant!"  
"Shut up! You are not my commander.", Arthur snarled.  
Francis didn't know what to say. He had actually not wanted to make a bad impression to the leader of these mercenaries. He had found liking in the red hair… he didn't want to disappoint this man, this was all he knew and it didn't need more. There was something about this man…

Suddenly, Francis felt a harsh pain in his shoulder and he had to drop his sword. His looked down there and saw his bandages grow red coloured while spasms crept along his hand and arm. It hurt so terribly!  
Then, Alasdair jumped in front of him before Arthur could use this hesitant moment to his favour. The redhead blocked his brothers sword with his claymore.  
"Ah tellt ye tae halt it …Wulfric, Godric – Tak' care o' him.", with a nod, two of the mercenaries came forth and helped Francis going back to the camp.  
What the blue-eyed blonde didn't hear was how Alasdair shouted at his brother and told him to never do that again.

Another few days passed. But apparently the breaking of the wound was not as bad. The doctors of the camp did their best to cool the wound and dress it properly. Francis would often try and tell them that he had not really wanted to strain his wound that much. During these days, the doctors were his only visitors. Alasdair didn't speak with the newcomer and it somewhat got to the blonde. He accused himself of having started the fight with the young brother. And the more he looked for his own failure – but couldn't see one – the more he increased his feel of guilt until one evening he sat in a corner in a tent he had to share with a few veterans and cried like a young girl.  
Francis tried to keep himself silent all the time so the sleeping old men wouldn't hear him and try to cheer him up or down.

One night, the leader of the group stood in the entrance of the tent. The others were already asleep and Alasdair waved the other out of the tent.  
"…Ah hae bin realising that yer bonny soft oan th' ben."  
Francis flinched a little at these words. They had been walking for a while to get a bit distant from the camp. All the while the blonde had felt like a lamb that was going to be slaughtered.  
"…All this time... I have been good for nothing. I… I don't even know why it … It seems that it matters alot to me now what… what you think."  
The redhead made a strange sound which Francis deciphered as disapproval. "Keek, it doesn't maiter whit ah think or whit th' ithers think …"  
The other seemed to be about to say something very cruel. That fragile bond he felt with the other seemed to be just a lie! But could his heart lie about all of this? Were his feelings wrong? He had never been wrong before… so the blonde thought. His body was shaking and hiccups ran through his neck. The other was right… he was really soft on the inside. He had never been like this before.  
"Francis…?"

The other seemed to notice that something was wrong. But either was he a gentleman and ignored the real reason or he was just easy minded. However, he draped his coat around the shaking frame of the other as if Francis was cold.  
"Francis, A'm sorry fur whit mah brother did. Ah ken he is short-tempered…what did th' doctors say? wull ye be able tae handle yer sword again? "  
"…I don't know.", almost every sentence, the blonde had to put all his force not to tear up. He wondered if the other could hear his problem.  
"Fur ah hae seen ye handling th' sword… it keeked ower graceful. Sae smooth 'n' wi'oot ony effort. Ah pure wished we cuid hae a rammy. Ah hae tae postpone it… ah didn't blether tae ye thae days fur ah thought ye wur crabbit. 'n' then ah heard ye greetin' ilka nicht ah passed yer tent."

This was a surprise for the blonde. He had never expected so kind words. And whilst the blonde brother had torn his physical wound open, the red-haired brother seemed to have broken open another wound. Or at least a stream… because Francis was now crying again. He couldn't help it, the tears just came.  
"I…I didn't cry because I would never be able to use my sword…th-the doctors said that the wound isn't that bad anymore."  
"Help ma bob, how come urr ye greetin' then? how come urr ye greetin' nou?"  
"I don't quite know myself…", Francis whined. In fact he knew… but the only feeling this came equal to was love. The will not to disappoint someone else…to appear best looking, best skilled and whatnot in the eyes of the other. But Alasdair might as well just be laughing about that, so Francis would hardly have the courage to say so. Yet, he had never heard any of the veterans saying that there was a girl or woman waiting at home for Alasdair. In fact those old men had been wondering why such a good looking 'boy' never got married.

"A- Anyway, ah juist wanted tae apologise fur mah glaikit wee brother …", now that sounded like Alasdair called it quits for today and wanted to leave the crying stranger alone.  
"…D-do you want to leave now?", the blonde tried now very hard to stop crying by himself and wiped his tears off his cheeks like a windscreen wiper would do for a car on a very rainy day.  
"… Aye, ah wanted tae. It's gey late nou.", the redhead looked up to the star filled sky.  
But Francis didn't want to be left alone now. He felt like when he was left alone now, something bad would happen. Like a child that didn't want to go to bed because of the 'monsters' that lurked beneath.

A tug on his sleeve stopped the redhead from leaving now.  
"…Please… can I stay with you this night?", Francis murmured. He had observed the other one now for quite a time as well, figured that the leader of course had a quite large tent of his own.  
"…How come nae? mah tent is lairge enough."  
"C-can I bring my stuff? I will need some of that tomorrow morning.", the blonde hesitantly explained.  
"Mhm…", the redhead nodded with a gentle smile.

Alasdair could have sworn that his heart had skipped a beat when he had seen those large dark blue and tear filled eyes. Oh how he would have kissed those tears away. But he didn't want to appear awkward towards the other.  
The feeling the other had created when he had been tugging his sleeve and now wanting to go to his own bed/tent had almost been like back then when he had helped raising his younger siblings. It was a rather sweet gesture, he couldn't deny it. And obviously he now was a big brother to this strange person now too. In fact he could spend this night and finding out more things about 'Francis', so he would not be so strange anymore.  
Oh such beautiful blue eyes…

The two of them went back to the tent Francis had been sharing with the older men. The blonde tried not to tread on their sleeping forms while he collected a bag of his belongings, his sword and quickly rolled up his sleeping bag. Loaded with that they went to Alasdair's tent which was pretty much central in this village of tents.  
The redhead held open the door and let his guest pass through.

The tent itself was cosy and dry. As soon as the blonde had rolled out his bed on a free spot, he flopped right there with his bag and sword and felt like he could sleep right away. He had never felt more secure in his life, so he thought. But also he knew that the danger of telling the other that he loved him was now a lot more dangerous. It could just so slip past his lips. At the same time he thought about the things the other had said… that he wanted to have a fight with him because he had been very skilled before he had his shoulder injured. And that the other had noticed his crying. It felt so good to actually be noticed like that. It would have been worse when this Arthur guy would have noticed and then bully him about it.  
"Urr ye a'richt again? ye don't seem tae greet anymair. ", Alasdair noticed, lighting a small lamp inside the tent, making it all just about double as cosy and comfortable.  
"That's right…", he was still trembling a bit, but now for another reason. He was very excited – almost too much to really sleep now. "I never felt so good in a while… I..I mean, I feel good travelling with your group of mercenaries, but this is just… the top."  
'I guess not a lot enjoy sleeping with the leader in a tent', Francis added in his mind.

"Th' top, eh?", the redhead seemed bemused and lit a cigarette on the lamp. "Oh.. eh.. Ah hawp ye don't mynd? "  
„It's your tent. You can do here whatever you want.", Francis just thought that the other looked very cool right now. It was almost like a mortal admiring his hero.  
"Gey well…Ah hae hud some questions aboot ye. Ah shuid hae asked ye earlier, but… meh, a leader's lee is stowed whiles. ..Ah hate it.", a frown decorated Alasdair's forehead. "Hm! Quaistion batch yin: whaur urr ye fae? "  
Francis slowly got used to the strange accent the other had. Also he was fascinated by it. "…Ugh.. well, when I regained consciousness that day I was near Châtelleraut… figures, I'm French. But to tell you the complete story… I have lost my memory. I just woke up this day with this sword and a metal piece with the name 'Francis' on there. I have been travelling in search for my identity ever since."

"…Well, we should sleep now.", Alasdair stubbed his cigarette and got himself ready to sleep in. "We'll be travelling eastwards tomorrow. The plan is to get to the king…He'll might help us getting what we want."  
"Okay…", Francis murmured and snuggled himself into his bed. He didn't realise that he was still wearing the other man's coat.

The sun got up long before Francis was ready to leave his bed. And he would also only awake to a certain redhead playing with his hair.  
"A…Achoo.."  
„Bless ye.", Alasdair dropped the streak of hair he'd been tickling the other's nose with.  
„…Ah…Ah!", in a matter of seconds, the blonde was wide awake and blushing. Slowly he remembered how he had gotten here last night and blushed even more.  
"C'moan, we hae tae hurry nou. Th' tent haes tae be taken doon. We a' waited fur ye."  
"S-sorry.", Francis sneezed again and busied himself getting ready. He rolled up his bed, hurriedly made himself presentable with clothes and hair, picked up his belongings and went for his horse.

About a quarter hour later, everyone was ready to leave. For a while, Francis trotted with his horse in the back with the old men like usually. But then a large gap was made and before the blonde could realise it, the leader of the Celtic Spirits rode next to him.

"Ah let mah wee brother tak' th' leid. He's guid enough fur that."  
"…", The Frenchman just gaped at the other. It was an honour to ride with him. He knew that a lot among the Celtic Spirits would have killed for that honour and wished for this place.  
"How urr ye nou?", Alasdair asked with a smile.  
„…Fine. Thank you.. ehm.. and you?"  
„Braw. … Ye ken ah ne'er let guests kip in mah tent fur free? ", a strange glint was in the redhead's eyes.  
"…No?", the blonde blinked and paled a little, wondering what was going on. Also he noticed that the other's style of riding seemed very casual and… one might say 'jolly'. Had he never notice that before?  
"Nae."  
„And…what is the price? Did you have alot … in your tent yet?"  
"Nae. 'n' th' cost is… fur nou juist anither nicht in mah tent. 'n' this wull remain th' cost 'til ah say something else. Git that? "  
"…Yes."  
„Guid.", this left a pleased grin on Alasdair's face.

And while Francis still had to digest the information of spending possibly every night now in the other's tent and not many had been there, Alasdair grabbed the bridle of Francis' horse and made his way back to the lead.  
"What the? What are you doing?", Francis nagged all the way to the lead and when they reached the lead where Arthur behaved like everyone belonged to him, he just shut up and blushed.  
Arthur just gave him a cold glare and then looked at his brother. "Are you done with your business now?"  
"Aye.", the redhead appeared a little too happy for Arthur's taste. He just looked back to the road that lied ahead. 


	3. Chapter 3

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
My native language is not English, so please excuse my poor grammar or use of words.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: M

Genre: Fantasy

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Kirkland (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll name him this way in this story… Everyone gives him another name.. *le shrug*

_

On their way to the king's court, they met several other nobles that were quite familiar with what the king had in mind. After all, the mercenaries didn't want to pop up there and just demand and demand. They wanted to show up before the king and brag about their victories. And because of this, they contacted these nobles in order to find out who were the enemies of the king.  
Their next task was to obtain a castle that was secured by a trench filled with water. It would be hard to take over.  
However, several weeks had passed now also and Francis was ready to join the other fighters.  
The mercenaries had gathered in a forest and had a good overview over their target.

"It micht be guid tae strike at nicht. Does yin o' ye ken whit moon phase we ur in?"  
"The moon phase doesn't matter. There's always mist here and the clouds are also always low. There won't be any light reflecting from the water."  
"Sae we shuid be able tae cross it in th' nicht …Francis, kin we count oan ye?"  
"A…", he had almost replied with 'Aye'. During those weeks he really had gotten used to the company of the redhead. "…Yes, I'm good."  
Arthur rolled his eyes. „We should use the fact that we are quite many. Some of us can attract their main attention on the main gate while the rest of us tries to invade on the sides. However, the trench is still there. Our horses won't be able to cross it when we wear our armour. Then again we have to get over the high walls…"  
"I have… an idea about that. One of us swims without armour over there with a rope or two. So we have some kind of makeshift bridge. Everyone can cling to this line and before the enemy knows it, we're over there. However, there's still the wall, yea…", Francis frowned, trying to make out some weak spot. "I wonder… every castle actually has some tubes going out… you know, for the waste."  
"You can't be serious! Who is supposed to go through that shite? No, there has to be another way. And most of all… who invited you to debate on how we are going over this?"  
"Ah did.", the older redhead glared at his brother. "'n' fur this mission we cuid uise ilka sort o' input that we kin git. …and nou fur howfur tae climb th' dyke. Uise a hook, lik' usual. Bit wrap something aroond it, sae it mak's na sound."

The men waited until midnight. Then the operation could start.  
"Conceal that garbage.", Arthur ordered and looked away from the half-naked Frenchman.  
"What garbage? This hair is just natural everything.", the man replied with a frown. He was naked, save for a cloth around his hips covering what was essential. The scar he had taken from when Arthur had hit him with an arrow had now taken a flower shape.  
"He's juist jealous that he is aye as hairless as a wee lassie.", Alasdair snickered and handed the rope to Francis.  
The three of them were a little way up the stream since Francis was in the opinion that he would definitely drift away when he tried to cross the stream by swimming. Then, right there was the small isle on which the fortress stood on. Luckily, there was also a single tree manifested on the isle and Francis had suggested tying the rope on there so a small group of mercenaries could cross the river to help opening the main gate of the fortress. Once that was done, victory would practically fall into their hands.

"Arthur, ye kin awready hurl aroond th' bridge wi' yer group. Be canny."  
"Yes, yes…", the fuzzy blonde replied and walked away.  
"'n' you… be canny tae.", Alasdair softly said to his new prodigy. Francis had not yet been joining the mercenaries formally, but this wasn't really the matter.  
"I'm a good swimmer.", the blonde in question replied and stepped into the water to get used to the temperature. He was wearing a ponytail so the hair wouldn't hinder him at any point. Once he was fully dunked into the water and come back up, he was ready to go.

Francis was still thrilled. The big river streamed before his eyes like he would have done hundreds of years ago, a little less broad perhaps, but still as powerful. The power of nature always pulled some respect from the Frenchman.  
He shook his head as if to blow the image away that was before him and slipped into the water, swimming with slow but powerful strokes, steady and always further and further. The rope was around his waist and Alasdair was there securing him in case the stream would be too mighty.

In what seemed like an endless journey, the blonde crossed the river. He drifted away a little more than expected but still reached the isle with the fortress. Quickly now he installed the roped around the tree, creating the funicular for the group of mercenaries that was to invade the fort from this side.  
He saw how the men crossed the stream. No one said a word. The moon was covered by thick clouds like it often would during these autumn days that became chillier each day.  
When everyone was ready, hooks were thrown over the balustrades of the wall. Around the same time, Arthur had arrived on the other side, trying to get the attention of the gatekeepers and distract them.

Then, everything happened fast. Before the current owners of the fortress knew it, the Celtic Spirits had taken them over! The current owners were captured and tied together in the middle of the fortress and the mercenaries started to celebrate around them.

Francis was just getting dressed again once he had dried up and hummed a little.  
"Thare yer! ah hae bin keekin fur ye."  
"Ah,… I still had to get my stuff and I didn't want everyone to watch me getting dressed, you know?", Francis blushed. "What's the matter?"  
"Mind howfur aye wanted tae rammy wi' ye? th'day we besieged th' fortress wi' hardly ony fightin', sae ah thought… we cuid hae a wee battle."  
"Hm…Okay? But I'd rather we take not so sharp weapons. I'd really not want to take another few weeks healing up."  
"We juist lea oor swords sheathed, how's that?"  
"Cool."

About 20 minutes later, the two of them gathered in the inner court of the fortress. The prisoners they had made were brought somewhere else. The mercenaries didn't know what was going on, but they surely were entertained. Half of them were drunk now anyway.  
On one side was Francis with his rather frail sword. He promised to be a swift fighter. On the other side was Alasdair with his big chunky piece of a sword. The thing was practically as long as he was tall (6'9 / 2, 05 meters).

"Mak' yer foremaist shift, lassie.", Alasdair liked his lips.  
"W-who are you calling a 'lassie'?", Francis had learnt that it was translated with 'girl'. But he somewhat obeyed and attacked the other. The 'claymore' moved surprisingly swift for its size.  
The Frenchman ducked away and noticed the strong blow of air that moved along with the sword. Then suddenly, Alasdair changed the grip his sword and swung it onto the blonde.  
Francis dodged the chunk of metal simply by changing the direction to which the force was directed. It looked so simple…  
The blonde then stepped closer and was about to hit the redhead with his sword, which would have meant that he'd won, but the leader of the Celtic Spirits wasn't likely to give up so easily. He moved up his sword and the two swords clashed together repeatedly.  
And in the same way, Francis moved his blade rapidly, as much did Alasdair move his claymore with an uncanny ease, like it didn't have the size it had.

Now it also appeared that it was a bit of a fight for domination between the two. Whoever won would be the manlier man of them. And Alasdair would most likely do anything for winning this title. He worked very hard for it. Centimetre for centimetre, inch for inch he gained ground from the blonde, but still tried to keep his head cool. Even at a point where he usually already would strike his victorious blow. Alasdair knew that with Francis he had a very skilled fighter before him.  
Any mistake would cost too much…way too much.

"Come on, why not stepping ahead? Victory is right there~", Francis teased the other, knowing fully well that he would soon lose the battle. Perhaps he could still win it if he'd taunt the redhead.  
"A'm stepping richt ahead, wee lassie.", the green eyes were fixed on the blonde's blade. "'n' a'm aff tae hae mah wey wi' ye neist nicht …"  
Francis thought the other had joked and kept slashing like nothing had happened, just with a grimace on his face.  
Then, the slashes of Alasdair became wilder and soon their face were close enough to feel each other's breath.  
The redhead winked and said. "A loue ye, wee frenchman. Yer mines."  
A little stumbling and Alasdair had pinned the blonde to the ground.

Francis cursed as he realised that he had lost this battle. The mercenaries cheered since it was their leader who had won. Alasdair helped the other up.  
"…Ah mean it. Yer butt is mines nou. Yer nou pairt o' mah mercenaries. 'n' yer a bonny valuable member o' thaim."  
"You're a dirty pervert!", Francis tried to scream against the noise the drunken mercenaries made who were now celebrating another victory. "That's not fair!? And how can you say so?"  
"Ah juist open mah mooth 'n' th' wurds come oot wi' th' hulp o' mah tongue."  
"I don't mean /that/."  
"Then whit? express yersel' clearer, Franny."  
"How can you just hire me like that? You don't even know me! And don't call me Franny."  
"Ah kin ca' ye whit a'm waantin'.", Alasdair hesitated a bit, then gripped Francis' chin and kissed him in front of everyone. "Thare! that means you're mah guidwife nou! Aye?!"

The blonde slapped the other square into the face and ran off.

After a while, Alasdair caught him in the forest sitting on a tree.  
"Ye cannae run aff lik' that. Ah ain ye nou, ye ken?"  
"…Did you have to kiss me in front of everyone?"  
"Aye …and it dinnae taste that ill. …in fact ah winched ye a lot awready in yer kip. Mmh, they tender lips…"  
"Dirty pervert! Would you stop that? And what will your people thin-?"  
"Ah dinnae care whit thay think. …as far as ah recall thay wanted me tae git leid. 'n' nou ah fun someone."  
"And… you know, I lost my memory. What if there is someone who I am engaged to? And you should really rather get a female one. I thought I have shown this morning well enough that I am not a girl. There's no flat chested girl with hair on there.", he patted his chest.  
"…If thare pure wis someone, then it's someone wha doesn't gie a jobby aboot ye. Na yin haes bin keekin fur ye yit, haes thare?"

Alasdair made a point there. And for once Francis didn't know what to say. He still sat in the tree, blushing over the kiss.  
Suddenly, the blonde felt a firm grip around his ankle. "Gyah!"  
He was being pulled down and caught in the arms of the taller redhead. Apparently, the tall male was tall enough to do that. "Yer mines… Mah guidwife afore god."  
The redhead's face was very close to Francis' again, the blonde found. Several sweet kisses followed. Alasdair was surprisingly gentle for a fierce and tall man, for a warrior. Still, the Frenchman felt paralyzed. It all happened too fast for him to think about it.  
"…Ah juist hud hoped that mah feelin`s wur between ye.", Alasdair softly murmured.

"It cannot be.", Francis said. He was still not ready to be with Alasdair. But he was not ready to be with anyone, so it didn't have to do with the poor redhead.  
"How come nae? ah kin gie ye anythin'. A roof ower th' heid, something crakin' tae sloch, a taps aff kip ilka nicht."  
"That's not it! It's… we don't know each other really. And when you'd say you know me, then it would be a lie. I don't even know myself. I don't have any memory of who I really am."  
"Yer francis. Does nae that count? 'n' if yer in need fur a fowk, ah kin offer ye mines. Ah kin gie ye masell. It's a' ah have….all ah hae kin be yers."  
"Why do you put so much value into a homeless idiot?"  
"Fur a'm feelin' that yer a gey kind 'n' sweet body. Ye kin nae mind anythin', bit yer nae hee haw. Ye hae a personality 'n' ah loue that personality. … 'n' you're ferr sexy.", now it was Alasdair's turn to blush.

"…Why do you have that accent?", it sounded almost like an accusation. But the Frenchman really wanted to find out and wondered why he had not asked earlier.  
Now the redhead smirked confident and looked at the blonde. "Ye see, ah hae three brothers. Wur a' different fur we grew up in different places. Oor mither decided tae bade wi' th' youngest, bit we a' gaed oot tae become pure tough warriors. 'n' ah juist stayed in th' north o' oor island… ah jalouse ah picked up howfur thay speak up thare."  
"…", Francis looked at the tall male. "…and why do you people wear skirts? I know they do that at your place.  
"They're not skirts! It's called 'Kilt'. Got that memorized? Kilt!"  
"…Kilt."  
"They're gey different fae skirts. Ainlie men wear thaim – 'n' this pattern, then they're pleated 'n' we wrap thaim aroond us lik' that… ah kin shaw ye yin mornin' if you'd lik'. Th' fabric is aboot 6 – 7 yards (5 – 6 metres) long…so a lot tae wrap aroond."  
"Ah?", Francis tilted his head and reached out his hand to feel the fabric. It felt warm and soft. Really a nice one.  
"Aye, 'n' th' pattern is different fae fowk tae fowk. …by th' way… ye don't wear anythin' beneath it.", the redhead watched the other fondling the fabric.  
Francis went beet red and retracted his hand quickly.

"But when you're… naked under there, isn't that hard to fight sometimes?"  
"It's. Ither men hud easily lost thair baws in a battle. It's tairible whin yer opponent kens aboot that."  
"Is that why you wield such a long sword?"  
"Aye.", Alasdair smiled. "It's an' a' a common sword fur th' fowk up thare. Th' name o' it's 'claymore', meaning lairge sword. Bit seendle some hae it as lang as ah hae mines."  
"Then yours is also heavier than those of other?"  
"Aye. Ye seem tae ken a bawherr aboot weapons."  
"Just a bit…Can we go back to the fortress? It's getting really cold and I'm getting hungry."  
"Me tae, let's gang." 


	4. Chapter 4

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
My native language is not English, so please excuse my poor grammar or use of words.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: M

Genre: Fantasy

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Kirkland (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll name him this way in this story… Everyone gives him another name.. *le shrug*

_

Only one pair of green eyes noticed the return of the two warriors. But the two of them, now a married couple, were hanging out in their own world of thoughts.  
Francis still had to get used to the thought of being married at all. Sure he had admired Alasdair, but living with him together was another thing.  
Then he noticed that he was still wearing the coat the other had given him days ago… Oh well. He had never brought it over him to give it back. He liked the smell and it kept him nice and warm.  
Actually, Alasdair was not sure about Francis now. What if the blonde changed his mind? What if he lost him before their first dawn together?

"Forordinar it's nae lik' me tae rush in lik' this. We barely ken ilk ither yit a'm awready asking fur sic a thing. Ah haven't planned this… if a'm boring ye, tell me sae Ah wis ne'er talking aboot making prey fur juist yin nicht. Ye mist be mah guidwife. Dae ye ken mah point o' sicht? …for i'd be guid fur ye."  
"…Please go on. To be honest, you have always fascinated me. I like what I see, what I hear. Knowing the me that I am now, I think I'd be good for you too."

They ascended the stairs to that one room that had been reserved for them. Among his mercenaries, Alasdair had already the rank of a king. He would always get the best of everything.  
The room sported a large bed, several smaller tables and chairs and also a couch.

Seeing the bed, Francis blushed. A wedding night? The connection of their bodies was one of the things he actually feared. He could take living together with the other, just like a friend. Talking, maybe sharing a hug. The kiss at first had been rather embarrassing, had felt so very strange.  
Calling up the memory of it caused his body to shudder in delight already.

Alasdair however took the decision from the smaller man. He just flopped onto the couch.  
"B-but the bed is larger, and you're a tall man. You should take the bed, if we're going to split up like that."  
"Nae…A'm waantin' th' couch.", it was very clear how uncomfortable the redhead looked on that thing. Nearly half of him was hanging off.  
"…Silly man. Just because I don't want to share the bed with you doesn't mean you have to take the 'worse' option. Come on!", he took one hand of the warrior and pulled him up. "Best option for the right person. Come, I am smaller, I will fit on there."

In the end, Alasdair just flopped onto Francis and pinned him more or less onto the bed. "Alasdaaair…."  
"Can't hear you saying my name enough…", Alasdair nuzzled onto the younger male's ear and kissed him again, causing the blonde to blush.  
"You said you were giving me time.", Francis whined.

However, the Frenchman concluded that it was not so bad having a fierce warrior for a lover. Love among males wasn't as uncommon among the normal peoples. Among nobles this would have been regarded as too ordinary, too normal. Some of them even called it ugly, stupid and filthy.  
Now, Francis wondered how the redhead was going to ascend to nobility when he was striving for such an 'ordinary' lifestyle. The blonde shared his thoughts.  
"Ah ken that th' nobles ur glaikit this wey. Bit seriously, ye don't mak' loue by gender. Whin ye pure loue someone it's fur o' inner qualities. …well, as fur me, an' a' outward appearance is something neat. Bit wi' ye oan mah side ah cannae fail.", the redhead chuckled. "Yer pure cute."

Alasdair let the other know that he had reasons to become a noble... and maybe even a king. One of the reasons was that he wanted to change the world, make it a little better. He was unsatisfied with the politics, and since that was still dependant on monarchy, he had chosen this path.  
"…I see. This is already very noble of you to think, when you want to choose your destiny for the sake of other people's lives and their future."  
"Ah wish that'd mak' me a noble awready. Bit a'm needin' a title, some piece o' land 'n' a steid in th' world tae say whit ah hae tae say."  
"Very ambitious.", Francis smiled.  
"Don't you have any wishes for the future… I mean even if you don't have any memory, you must have dreams, right?"  
"…I'd like to regain my memory. So I'd know who I am. That thought has kept me alive for most of the time in my life yet. I actually never thought of settle for something like a boyfriend or a future. Sometimes I even forgot to eat."  
"Jings, crivens, help ma boab! ah a'maist forgot that. Ye mist be hungert. …W-, juist hauld yer horses 'ere, i'll git us some neat tea. Th' ither mist hae some leftovers."

And with that, the redhead was gone for now and Francis alone with his thoughts about that man that now was his husband.

"It was about time he went away. I had hoped to get my chance tonight."  
"Arthur."  
"That's right.", Arthur jumped in from a window. Francis had no idea how the other blonde had gotten there. "I'm going to kill you. You as my brother's bitch? Most unlikely."  
Now he drew his sword and lunged at the Frenchman who barely had time to drew his sword and dodge the blow.  
"Killing me won't get you anywhere.", he said between clenched teeth and shoved the other off. "Au contraire, I'm going to restore my reputation and 'thank' you for almost crippling me. You were such a bastard about this. Even laughing and cheering yourself for having hit me with that blasted arrow. ..You will beg for mercy!"

Their swords hammered against each other. But at some point, Arthur noticed that Francis' sword left dents in his, and cursed under his breath. Then, Francis was suddenly a lot faster and cuts and bruises rained all over Arthur's body before he could do anything about it. If this would continue, Arthur would surely be eaten up by that sword and bleed to death.

"Stoap that, ye twa!", a dark growl came from the door. Alasdair just put the tray of food and the jug of wine down, picked up his claymore he had left on the couch and tried to separate the two. But unlike Arthur, Francis was moreover unharmed and didn't look like he had battled a lot.  
"Francis! ah lea th' room fur juist a few minutes 'n' ye stairt a rammy wi' mah wee brother?"  
"He came here and attacked me first…", Francis replied, telling the truth.  
Alasdair looked at his younger brother.  
"…He… he dragged me here. I just came past the room. It… it hurts so baaad.", Arthur sobbed.  
"He came from the window. If he would have come past here, you would have seen him, wouldn't you?"

Alasdair wasn't sure what to believe. He looked at his brother and just saw the blood dripping down.  
"…Gang tae th' doctor 'n' let yer cuts be fixed. 'n' then gang tae kip."  
"B-but…"  
"Gang…", the redhead glared at the younger sibling.

Arthur hesitated a bit, but then obeyed and left the room.

"If you thought I'd be letting myself bully by your younger brother and do nothing about it, you shouldn't have made me your wife in the first place.", Francis glared at the tall man.  
Alasdair glared back, then stepped closer, gripped Francis' chin harshly and forced a kiss onto his lips. "Ah wouldn't hae asked ye that. Ah wid hae wanted a pure tough minded guidwife."  
"Gah… warn me next time you kiss me…"  
"Dae ah hae tae? yer mah guidwife. Ah cuid winch ye anytime. …and ye cuid winch me tae."

Francis looked rather unhappy having to deal with such a bothersome blonde as the brother of his husband was.  
"Dinnae gimme that keek. Ah brought ye fairn. …let's juist hae a crakin' tea 'n' then heid fur kip an' a'. Tis sae late awready. Ah think we'll bade fur a week at least, sae oor fowk kin recover."  
"Sounds great, yeah."  
The two of them decorated a table and make it as nice as they could. They just sat on the couch, close by each other and ate dinner. Slowly, Francis got used to feel someone so close. It was kind of hard for him to get any contact to someone ever since he had lost his memory. He just felt empty and it was often too much for him.

Alasdair had filled two glasses with a bit of the cheap wine he had gotten in this place and held his glass up. "A toast oan mah bonny guidwife. Kin she ever be as young 'n' healthy as she is th'day?"  
"…She?", Francis cast him a glare and grabbed the glass that obviously had been filled for him. "I am a guy, in case you haven't noticed yet."  
"Na ah haven't clocked yit. …not pure at least.", the redhead returned him a lustful gaze, scanned the other's body from head to toe. He was referring to that he had never seen the blonde naked and therefore unable to tell if Francis was a man or a woman – since Francis had a slender body and long blonde hair he could as well be a girl. After their glasses had met with a bell-sound, he took a deep sip and blushed.  
Francis also took a larger sip, as to drink away the shyness. "Perhaps I should just give you… show you…", he started to undress while the glass of wine was still in his hand. A few drops landed on his now bare chest. "Whoops…"  
"Mmh…", Alasdair leaned forward and kissed them off.

Francis blushed and watched the other doing so, slightly irritated. He couldn't recall having done it with another male. But to be honest he couldn't recall that he had sex at all…Before he had lost his memory.  
The redhead didn't stop at this place. He found that his 'wife' looked rather delicious, shoved the fabric aside and start to kiss and lick over the left nipple. It sent shivers up and down the blonde's spine and silent moans escaped his lips.  
Alasdair smirked and started to make it wilder. The wine had seriously risen to his head. He started to bite, suck, then lick again – simply to mark his territory with lips, tongue and teeth. And beautiful marks did he leave all over the Frenchman's chest.  
It didn't take long and Francis was just lying there, gripping the red locks underneath him, panting heavily and blushing in the same colour as his lover's hair. "Nnnh… Alas…Alasdair…"

The Frenchman gripped tighter into the red locks and pulled up the head of the other and kissed him passionately and forceful.  
Alasdair moaned into the kiss and was very pleased with his work. The nipples now looked like small cherries, red and abused. The skin around there also had obvious marks. And then he felt something lengthy and hard pressing against his lower abdomen.  
Francis was just as desperate now. He had changed his mind over the leader of the large band of mercenaries in just these few minutes. He felt like he couldn't live without the dominant male anymore.

Alasdair's lips parted and his tongue glided out and licked over the other's lips who first felt it irritating. Francis didn't know what to do with that, and parted his own lips actually to ask something. Instead of words coming out, a tongue was shoved inside his mouth, discovering everything in there.  
The redhead tasted the dinner they just had and the faint note of the wine. Except for that the other's mouth was pleasingly healthy. Not one tooth missing and the tongue smooth and warm.

At the same time, the blonde found it bewildering that something had entered his mouth and moaned a little louder. It was turning him on and he started rubbing his crotch against the other's abdomen.  
Alasdair noticed that and smirked. Then he pinned down the other's hips. "Shhh… Now's nae th' time yit."  
He received just a desperate moan and even more desperate look from below. The redhead chuckled and kissed the other's lips over and over as a sort of consolation. "Dinnae worry, ye wull git yer time."

Then, Alasdair got up from their couch and picked up Francis to carry him over to the large bedding. There, he tied the blonde to the bed – at least the hands, so the male would not interfere.  
"What are you doing?", Francis asked.  
"Weel, whit does it keek lik'?"  
"You tie me up. …But this is not what I mean. …What are you doing it for?"  
"A'm feelin' lik' a'm aff tae regret if ah don't dae it."

Alasdair smiled at the blonde, like he was admiring a trophy for its beauty, then kissed his lips again. Then his kissed trailed down, kissing the bearded chin, the slightly hairy chest, gently stroking over the still red nipples… until he stopped at the navel. The fabric of the pants were still in the way. Looking up shortly, Alasdair just received another begging look. The smile turned into a smirk and he wondered for how long the other would play along. Actually forever, regarding that the French was tied to the bed.  
On the other hand, there would be many nights like there, so no need to stretch the time like it would be the last time he'd get a hold of Francis. He was getting needy now too. Looking at the blonde who was writhing in pleasure was his turn-on.  
"Would you please actually do something…?"  
"Hm… ach, Aye…"

The Scot was continuing now where he had gotten lost. He decided for the next step and opened the pants just lightly to then rip them down in one fluent moment. The time the waistband passed a certain level, Francis' member flipped up, like a spring that had waited for the release of pressure. The blonde hissed at the feel of sudden cold around his lower parts.  
Alasdair looked at the crotch with a certain portion of interest. The head was a sweet pink, now turned a little darker than usual due to the amount of blood concentrating to that area. The foreskin was but still halfway covering the head, only allowing the observer to see the small hole through which already a bit of precum dripped. The precum was already dripping down the attractive length of the penis that was framed by golden blonde locks at the bottom. The scrotum was nice and evenly shaped, inviting for touch.  
"…Yer bonny.", Alasdair breathlessly commented.  
"…M-merci.", Francis felt both embarrassed and horny at the same time.

As soon as the taller redhead had snapped out of his dreamlike state, being mesmerized over the beauty of Francis' naked body, he returned to caress it in any thinkable way. Now it was most likely that he had gotten himself horny. This was heaven.  
The redhead had actually never thought to be gay, to love another man. But with Francis, this had become possible.

The taller male bent forward, retracted the foreskin now completely with his index and thumb and started to lick up the precum from the bottom up to the tip. And he was right with his precautions. As soon as his tongue touched Francis' skin, the blonde wanted to keep himself from moaning by covering his mouth with his hand. Instead an uncontrolled and loud moan escaped his throat. Also he spread his legs as if to allow more pleasure to enter.  
Alasdair repeated that movement with his tongue, happy to hear the other's moans so loud and lustful. However, now he also feared that the other might come too soon… so what to do? He wanted Francis to come with him. On the other hand, he knew that the next bigger step was going to be painful for his lover.

"Ho…. Oooh gooood~", Francis moaned, still pulling at his ties unable to get free. He felt like his brain was melting here and now with the other man's treatment. His behaviour but changed when his lover started to rub the small pink hole that was his entrance. Francis paled and looked down, asking the other what he was doing /now/.  
"Preparing ye fur th' interesting pairt."  
"Is… this is how men do it?"  
"Aye 'n' ye wull loue it. It wull be a bawherr painful… ah guess… bit bear wi' me 'ere."  
"Y-you're just weird…", Francis would have blushed if he wasn't already. He felt very vulnerable lying there with his legs spread and his lover caring about a spot Francis himself would just label as dirty. It did not seem right to him.

He huffed a little, when Alasdair inserted a finger and pushed a little against the muscles that would usually hold this hole firmly closed. His lust from before was now barely a help at all. The redhead added another finger and massaged the muscles. And whether Francis wanted it or not, the ring of muscles relaxed.  
The Scot continued this treatment for a while, moving his fingers around until there was no apparent resistance anymore. Then he pushed the fingers deeper, scraped against the upper wall, until he felt something with a round form underneath the skin. Alasdair pushed against there and tried to squeeze that spot with the two of his fingers.  
The reaction that Francis had for that was simply amazing. His almost fading erection came back in almost no time, he moaned deeply for lust and pushed his hips against his fingers. And Alasdair was certain he had found what he had been looking for.

With foggy blue eyes, Francis looked what the other was doing after he had removed the fingers again. He had never thought that he would feel such a way. Little did he know that this was just the beginning. His mouth felt dry and the rest of his body seemed to be glowing with some inner fire. He could now care less about the almost winter-like breeze that swept through this room due to no glass in the windows.

Alasdair was now fumbling with his kilt, freeing the erection he had kept in there for a while. Once he had moved the fabric out of the way, he gripped Francis' hips and moved his own closer. With hungry eyes he once more scanned the body underneath him. He took his member, bend it a little and set it before the pink hole he had stretched earlier. Just one slide and he was inside the warm smooth tunnel. Both moaned in deep pleasure and pushed their hips together.  
It was a hard task now, when Alasdair pulled almost out and slammed back inside. If he was dead, this would be his heaven. He thrusted into the warm body underneath him, changing his pace and angle still, until he had gotten the angle in which Francis screamed for lust.

Then everything went pretty fast and before Alasdair knew what was going on, the tunnel around his shaft tightened up and he felt something liquid, hot and sticky on his hand. A few more thrusts and he released his seeds deep into the blonde. 


	5. Chapter 5

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
My native language is not English, so please excuse my poor grammar or use of words.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: M

Genre: Fantasy

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Kirkland (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll name him this way in this story… Everyone gives him another name.. *le shrug*

_

Francis woke up naked next to his lover from last night. He remembered every second from it, yet he still enjoyed the twosome-ness they shared. Alasdair and he were snuggled close underneath the soft sheets. And both thought that heaven had to be like this. This was what they would fight for in the future.  
The blonde didn't regret being chosen as a wife by the tall redhead. "I love you, Alasdair…", he softly murmured, not caring if the other was awake or not. But knowing him, he had to be wide awake.  
"A loue ye tae."

After sharing another kiss, Francis rested his head back onto the others chest. After a while he started playing with the other's dark red chest hair. He was still fascinated by this colour. And despite Alasdair was a redhead, there were no freckles on that smooth white skin. Only fading scars here and there. He must have fought hard until he got up to where he was now.

There were still marks all over Francis' body. Biting marks and hickeys all over his neck, chest, belly and inside of his thighs. And then the marks left behind by the ties that had been around his wrists. Also, it was not that the two of them had stopped after one time sex. They had done it about 3 or 4 times. But now they were tired like never before and the blonde would have never thought that one could have sex in so many ways and in such long hours.

Alasdair had also grown tired and freed Francis after the 4th time. This gave the blonde now the chance to discover the redhead's body. The muscles beneath the skin seemed to be living individuals of their own, constructing and destructing, moving around under the surface like feral animals. This man fascinated him more and more. And also in personality he seemed to be wonderful. Though he hardly understood a word of what the Scot said, he understood that this man was going to protect him, no matter what.

Francis enjoyed feeling so save and connected like never before. "I really love you, I mean it.", he insisted.  
As a reply he received a kiss on top of his head. "Ah hud hoped sae. Did ah hae tae shag wi' ye in order tae mak' ye hawp? if that is sae, ah shuid hae dane that earlier."  
"I don't think I would have let you.", but it was weird for him to think that these nights they shared in the tent ever since he had been sobbing his heart out at the redhead, had just been a prelude to a life as a wife of this man with lots of sex and snuggled hours like that. "Really, love is a flower. It takes time to have it grow. But all patience is worth the waiting. And in the end you got what you wanted, right?"  
"…Ye mak' it sound lik' ye juist surrendered. Ah aye hawp that this is a two-side story."  
"It has become…I have to admit that you impressed me from the start. I admired you, because you were so strong. Still that didn't mean I was to be at your site. You're still the boss of a lot of fierce and confident warriors. Those men are dying and killing for you. And what am I? I am just a newcomer, just a grain of sand on your blood-filled path to the peak."

"You're nae juist a grain o' sand. Ye cuid be a reason how come a'm waantin' tae keep fightin'. Ye know… whin ah stairted this hail thing tae become a noble in order tae gie poorer 'n' weaker fowk a steid, this wis selfless. Noble, as ye said it. …but… wi' wha wis ah aff tae share it wi'? 'n' then whin ah wis a noble, wummin wid be attracted by mah status, dosh mibbie tae. Bit ye ken me wi'oot that…i don't wantae be a distant figure fur ye. Ah juist waant someone wha kin protect mah soul 'n' conscience."  
This was quite a long speech that the redhead had held and Francis was surprised that there was so much thought to it all. Usually with such a tall and muscular guy you wouldn't expect him to be smart when you were honest. But beneath that shell was a soft and gentle heart and a sharp mind. Alasdair dropped the covers more or less in front of him.  
Francis also figured that the reason why he had been picked among many was because he was new to the group and actually was not influenced by many things. He had lost his memory and possibly a lot of social or political knowledge over this world, thus sporting a serene opinion.

Francis then laid himself on top of the other completely and showered Alasdair with kisses. "How much time to we have left?", he softly asked.  
Alasdair returned the kiss and yawned. "We won th' siege yesterday, sae ah jalouse we kin rest th'day. Unless mah glaikit brother shows up. Bit he won't dare tae."  
"Hmm… or when one of us gets hungry, but I think we still have some left from yesterday, eh?", he looked over to the table they had left in a mess. The only reason why no flies were buzzing around there was because it was too cold.

The blonde got up and strutted over to the table and grabbed some. However, he ate his breakfast in bed and tried not to make it too dirty.  
Alasdair was lying for a while, watching the other move around what seemed elegantly in his eyes. Then he followed the example.  
It didn't take long when they finished breakfast to fall together, kissing like lunatics. Love was a wonderful thing once it was full ablaze.  
"But some day you will have to wake up and go outside. …To make it less hard, I guess we just get some bath, dressed and then outside. It will all take long enough and who knows what our people are doing without us."  
Alasdair purred. "Ye said 'our people' an' 'us'. It seems that noo ye accept that yer a pairt o' th' mercenaries."

The redhead however agreed to a bath. The problem was how to get water since this room had no tap whatsoever. No source of water. Alasdair just ordered two of his mercenaries who happened to be around to put a vat with hot water before the door.  
Half an hour later, the thing stood before the door and Alasdair and Francis shoved it inside. The water was still steaming and there was also soap and perfume along with it.  
"This is perfect. Marvellous."

In the tub, they snuggled up at each other again, really not able to let go of one another. It was rather a miracle that the two of them didn't have another round of sex. It was limited to soaping the other's body until smooth and squeaky clean.  
After about 2 hours of a bath, they decided to slowly get out and get dressed.  
"Alasdair, when we don't hurry, the sun will have set already again. …Then we'll have another chance of lying in bed next to each other."  
"True. Bit it's nae mah fault ah can't git enough fae ye. Yer ferr addicting, ye ken that?"  
"Same with you. I'm so happy to be your wife."  
Francis kissed his husband onto the lips one last time before they went out of their den.

As not differently expected, something had changed outside. A group of anarchists had formed around a bandaged Arthur. They wanted to throw over the loyalists that trusted into Alasdair. On the other hand they had been confused ever since that statement had come that the newcomer was the wife of their leader.  
"What's gaun oan 'ere?"  
"What's going on? Brother, you've never been able to lay off that dirty accent, have you? No wonder why you have so few people left on your side. I have been nice to you since you were my brother and left you that gay night with your … wife."  
"Arthur?!"  
"That's right, I'm kicking you out now!", Arthur barked a command and a group of archers aimed at Alasdair and Francis.  
The loyalists – mostly veterans and older mercenaries – tried to get in the way, but they were held back by the younger and stronger ones.

Arthur flexed the string of his bow and aimed at his brother. The arrow never met any flesh. Francis had stepped forward before Alasdair could even draw his sword and had split the arrow into fine slices with his sword.  
The redhead just stared with big green eyes at the blonde that stood before him, his hand still on the handle of his sword. His brother stared as well. But Arthur regained his composure faster and put 4 arrows onto his bow and fired at Francis, who dodged the arrows effortless. The same smoothness with what he had arrived at the band of mercenaries.  
"Shi-", Arthur cursed and wanted to flee. But before he could, Francis was at his side.  
"You know… first I just thought you were jealous that I get so much from your brother. But now I think that you are plainly evil.", cold steel got pressed onto Arthur's neck and panic stood in his eyes.

Suddenly, screams went through the crowd of men that had been for Arthur as the new leader. Forgotten for now was the bickering between Arthur, Alasdair and Francis.  
"What is it?!"  
"It's biting!"  
"And Scratching!"

Whatever it was, it was quick. The group tried to part, give the way free for their more-skilled leaders. But every time its position had changed. Alasdair had drawn his sword by now.  
"It's too quick!"  
"Then it's something for me.", Francis announced and went for the crowd. He just stepped in between, trying to catch up with the thing that was attacking the men. It was like catching a wild fish.

Suddenly, he stuck his sword onto the ground. The thing became visible… a rat of weird colour but clearly a rat. The thing tried to bite Francis and tried to get free.  
"What is that?"  
Alasdair stepped closer. Everyone wanted to see the little thing and stepped closer. "Stand back… it's still trying to bite."

The rat was black but of glowing purple and the eyes glowed red. Then it started to speak in a scratchy voice. "You will regret it. You will regret it. You will-"  
It was silenced by a mighty 6 feet-sword.

"Alasdair…"  
"'twas annoying.", the redhead bluntly said. "Noo back tae oor business. Arthur, how come urr ye bein' an eejit? whin yi'll waant yer ain gang, then tell me sae. Gang if yi'll waant, ah don't need ye."  
"Fine!", the brother snapped.  
"Braw!"

Without many words, the group split. Alasdair and Francis were left with more soldiers than they thought. Maybe the thing with the rat had made an impact. It was not Arthur who had saved them. The Brit had not even made a move.  
The veterans of the group examined that animal and couldn't really say anything about it. However, one of them made a sketch of it with detailed information… at least what they could gather about it. Then they buried the rat quickly because it started to smell horribly.

After staying for another night, the remains of the Celtic Spirits continued their travel towards the king's court. The ride was long but soon the troops reached smaller villages where they could get fresh supplies for food and for to repair their armour and weapons.  
There was a beautiful mountain range close by and some of the soldiers also wandered over there, just for the great view. Alasdair and Francis were among them. On the villages, everyone was free to go where they wanted and enjoy themselves.  
As for the newlywed couple it was like being on a honeymoon.

The weather was nice and the clouds flew silently over the mountains, only leaving a slightly wet trace.  
"I feel bad about your brother. It's all my fault."  
"…Dinnae say that."  
The two of them sat on a stone somewhere among the mountains, having found a place alone to enjoy the slowly setting sun together.  
"I mean, I have thought that he indeed was jealous and that it would only be some sort of rivalry…"  
"Ye don't ken him a lot, dae ye? ah mean… he pure seems rascal in th' oncom. He haes a lot o' …faces whilk she shows. Dae ye git me? he is gey moody. He kin be sweet, then… weel, ye hae seen it."  
"But he's your little brother. Don't you feel …protective?"  
"Ah used tae. Bit whin ye said that ah hud tae wale atween ye twa in a trial o' a rammy, ah hud made up mah mynd. Ah an' a' clocked that 'twas either him or ye. Am'fair peched o' him.", Alasdair bluntly said. "Ah used tae tak' care o' him a lot whin we wur younger, ye see? 'twas aye aboot him. He wis mother's wee darlin'."  
Francis looked at Alasdair, expecting him to say more about their childhood. 


	6. Chapter 6

This is a purely explanative chapter in which I give myself a chance to make a statement. Thus, I will not add Disclaimers this time.

At some point of the story I wondered, where this actually plays. I am not good with fictional names, so in the end it's Europe, I guess. But the map as we know it might be a little different.  
I have seen ancient maps in which Jerusalem marks the centre of the world and Europe, Asia and Africa are somewhat wrapped around it. Maybe it is just like that.

The 'home' of the Celtic Spirits are of course the British Isles.

Arthur and Alasdair share the same mother but have different fathers. But their mother kind of loved her last lover with which she produced Arthur a little more than the father of her former children. She never wanted to but she passed that feeling towards her children. On one hand, Arthur was something like the 'little prince' of the family. Then again he never had wanted that. He just wanted to play and fight with his brothers just like normal.  
On Arthur's 7th birthday, Alasdair gave him a slingshot. It had meant a lot to the blonde and now as an adult he's in perfect shape with his bow and arrow thanks to that.  
Alasdair is the oldest of the siblings. His childhood had been short, soon he had to watch out for his brothers and sister. Before that he had been a sort of wild kid, always falling into trouble, always getting hurt but nevertheless smiling and aiming to become the strongest of them all. He loves his family (and actually anything you tell him to watch over) and does anything to protect them. He never liked that Arthur was treated differently however. Just one day, Arthur wanted to follow him to the battlefield…  
Early did he start to wield swords that are taller than himself, and heavier than he was strong. Eventually he mastered his skills to perfection. The sword – Claymore – he has now could smash a Rhino's skull without effort.

The other two siblings of Arthur and Alasdair are George who was born about 5 years after Alasdair, and Gwynn who was born 1 year after George. Arthur was born 4 years after Gwynn, making him 10 years younger than Alasdair.

I cannot write much about Francis' background story yet. In one former chapter it's stated that he just woke up with his first name and that magical sword. He was 14 when that had happened and is searching for his identity and past ever since. With the sword he is faster than the human eye. Once his background story will be revealed, the story of the sword will be also.  
At some point, Francis stopped searching for himself this frantic. He thought that he was just an empty cup which he could fill with new information, emotion and personality. As long as no one scratches deeper on the surface, he is fine with that.

In chapter 3 – 4 I got a little inspired by the musical of Evita. The songs of it kinda follow me everywhere.  
The relationship between Alasdair and Francis is purely beneficial in the first place. Alasdair gets security and honesty with Francis – and a hand that is quick with the sword. He plans on making Francis his second-in-command now that Arthur is gone.  
As for Francis, Alasdair never asks where he came from or anything in the sort. And still, the redhead seems to be the protective shell he had been looking for. The home for his heart.

This way I also want to thank the kind comments that 'J'suis le Canada' left. I cannot really connect to their account, write a pm back, so I just do it like that. So: Thank you! Thank you for reading my work.  
No, I am not French. But I just don't want to say what nationality I have. It might ruin everything.  
And I don't think of stopping to write fanfictions soon. It could just be that I take breaks every now and then. In the meantime I have a little project going on, on Deviantart. 


	7. Chapter 7

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
My native language is not English, so please excuse my poor grammar or use of words.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: M

Genre: Fantasy

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Kirkland (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll name him this way in this story… Everyone gives him another name.. *le shrug*

_

Francis lightly squeezed the hand he was holding, that belonged to his lover sitting next to him.  
"…'n' this is how come ah don't regret that Arthur haes gaen awa' noo. Ah juist wonder whit he is daein' noo. Whit he aims fur."  
"Yeah, I'd be curious for that too. I wouldn't be surprised though if he would just pursuit your aim and makes a race out of it. The First one to reach the king is the winner, you see? And then he could say that you wasted your time with a homeless fool like me."  
"Yer nae a homeless gowk? nae anymore… mah hame shall be yer hame. Ah micht be a wanderer, bit eventually, ah wull bade somewhere someday."  
"I am happy that I can look forward to that.", Francis pulled up the hand and kissed the back of it. Not shortly after he received a peck on the cheek.

Suddenly, a rumbling sound was heard through the air and the mountain range they had been sitting on for a while shuddered. The earth was shaking beneath their feet. The noise was also too loud to even make out something else but the scream of the soil.  
Then, in the distant sky, a snake-like head was to be seen. It was part of a giant snake that had been sleeping on this mountain range. Where the snake had been, a gap was now and the snake moved towards the village on the foot of the mountain, ready to crush it.

The couple somehow made it down the mountain, more falling and tumbling than running really.  
In the meanwhile, the snake was eating people. Snatching after them, picking them up with their mouth and swallowing in whole.  
Alasdair and Francis ran after it. The aura of the snake resembled the aura the rat had been giving out. Certainly a magical monster. Usually, animals wouldn't grow that big. The mercenaries failed as they tried to get the better of the reptilian monster. It obviously was too strong. And the just decimated group of mercenaries became even smaller.

Then, Alasdair had an idea and used the old utterings his mother had taught him when he had been little. Back then she had said that this was magic and they were able to use it, when they believed strongly into it. After all, he had been trying to attack the snake with his sword. And even though the sword was heavy and sharp, not even a scratch had been left through the hard scales.  
Only a miracle would do the trick now.

Suddenly, the snake stopped to eat what it had in its mouth and dropped it. It turned around and faced Alasdair. Francis became scared. His sword had left scratches, but only faintly.  
The snake hissed and opened its mouth largely. Before anyone could react, the snake had closed its mouth just there where Alasdair had been standing.

"You damn beast!", Francis cried and slashed at the Snake. This couldn't be! Alasdair was not supposed to be dying now!  
The snake made a weird noise that somewhat resembled contentment. Apparently it had eaten enough.

But then, the Snake stopped moving and looked at its 'belly'. When you know where a snake had its belly, that is.  
However, the snake then got cracks everywhere in between the scales and finally broke free to reveal some survivors as well as a few other things that could no longer be identified. The gooey and bloody mess was all over the village. All of the houses were covered practically in the snake's shit. The main colour of it was the colour of rich soil: an almost black brown. Later on, people also said that this soil would be rather fertile.

"…Al..asdair?", Francis whispered, believing that the last meal of the snake had caused this miracle.  
"Aye?", a dark person covered over and over in mud stepped out of the remains of the snake and towards Francis who was just as covered in dirt.  
"Alas…are you alright?"  
"Ah wis aff tae ask ye th' identical thing."  
"Ehh? It was you being swallowed by that giant snake!"  
"Ah hardly clocked anythin'.", instead, Alasdair started to wipe Francis' face clean like you would do so with a young child. But since his sleeves were full of dirt themselves, it didn't really help.  
It made Francis sneeze and Alasdair started to laugh.  
He hugged the blonde tightly.  
And those that noticed that nothing serious had happened, joined into their laughter. Especially because everything and everyone looked so funny.

Of course it meant a lot of work. Some of the houses were damaged due to the snake waltzing down there, smashing everything. But the people had survived the snake's eating, since snakes usually digest their food very slow once it has reached the belly.

"Whin ah wis ben, ah juist slashed th' inner walls. Ootside th' scales seemed toughter than stane, bit ben th' snake wis gey soft."  
The mercenaries were helping the people of the village repairing the houses and also to get the dirt down there. They had simply planned to put all of the snake's remains on a square field far away from the village as they regarded it as miraculous and maybe even toxic. They didn't know how to analyse it and before it would cause any further harm it was better far off from the village.  
The people were happy to use carts.  
Of course, Alasdair and Francis helped them. Alasdair even used his sword for a shovel, as tools and everything was rather limited in the village. Usually not this many people lived and worked there either.  
But it was great fun. Even though the villagers didn't have much to share, they shared what they could.  
It would be painful for both once the mercenaries had to continue their path. But that was going to come rather late. When the mercenaries wanted to continue their march, it had started to become autumn. It became rapidly cold. Nothing unusual, just highly annoying since the mercenaries always had to sleep in their tents that hardly kept any of the warmth.

"Are you serious you want to continue the path to the king?", Francis asked the leader of the mercenaries with a tilt of his head. "It will be too hard. Especially for the veterans."  
"Na yin asked thaim tae come. Ah said thay shuid be staying hame lest time.", Alasdair was going to say that those old men had been busy wiping Francis' tears back then so he had not been wanting to leave them behind. Instead he just snorted. "…i hae talked tae th' village elders 'n' thay said there's a toun nearby. Certainly larger, sae thay kin gies a proper hame 'n' we kin an' a' buy hings. Th' villagers 'ere barely hud enough tae sloch fur themselves. If we bade 'ere, we maist likely murdurr thaim."  
"…I didn't know that.", Francis softly said.  
Alasdair gave him a mild glare, then turned away. "Tell th' ithers tae git duin."

Francis obeyed and told the others. It was basically a snowball system. One person told five other, and those five told five each (making it 25), and so on. Soon, the mercenaries were ready on their horses to leave the village. Some had to even share their horses when they had decided to leave their horse as workhorse at the village.

Francis rode in the back of the convoy again like he was used to. After half an hour after they had gotten going, a gap unfolded before the Frenchman, Alasdair had dropped to the back.  
"Urr ye mad or something? yer steid is in th' front neist tae me."  
"Eh? .. Uhm.. and what if something happens to the rear?", the blonde frowned. He felt like his place was here. Besides that he had the impression that Alasdair was angry with him. He didn't want to sort that out right now.  
"Stoap arguing wi' me. A'm yer commander 'n' ye hae tae obey me. Noo come."  
The sentence possibly hurt more than it should. What had started out as an honour seemed now like a burden. Francis followed his commander to the front after letting out a deep but hidden sigh. Just what had he gotten himself into? He had taken the redhead for a sweet and nice person, but now he was glaring at him every now and then and then also giving him orders in that tone of voice.

When they rode together in the front, Alasdair talked to the blonde seldom but received short replies. He wondered what was wrong. At the same time he had to pay attention to his convoy and thought about what to do next. And then his eyes were fixed on the map. The larger town he had been promised was nowhere in sight whereas from the map it should be right in front of them already. And it was going to be night again soon.  
Irritated, the redhead looked over to the sad Frenchman. "Hey… kin ye read a map?"  
The only reason why he didn't toss the map was because he didn't want it to go with the wind.  
"I don't know, I never…", Francis looked at the map. "…nevermind."

It took the blonde a while to decipher the map. But it seemed familiar. He frowned deeply. "How did you hold the map?"  
"Lik' sae."  
"…Well, that's… the opposite direction. There's north… you can see that on where the sun is standing.", Francis pointed to the sky. "We went the wrong way."  
The redhead facepalmed. And worse! They were not going to reach that place before sunset. Alasdair cursed inwardly. "This is how come yer steid is in th' front noo! quick, we hae tae alter th' route oor convoy is heading."

The convoy made a U turn and soon they got the other direction, now heading for the town for sure. First a murmur went through there, but Francis tried to calm them down, promised them a nice resting place if they just pulled through.  
The night was going to be an ice cold one. The soil was already crispy and the breath of the horses and the people turned to steam upon leaving mouth or nose. The sun was now setting rapidly in the eyes of the leader.  
Francis noticed that and at first he was thinking that it served the redhead right for being so rude lately. But after a while he thought further and came to the conclusion that it would be of no help to create panic among the group. "…Alasdair, pull yourself together.", he hissed.  
The redhead just looked at him with big green eyes.  
"Have you never been through a thing like this? Your own country is cold too."  
"Ah ken, bit it's mah fault we git lost. It shuid hae ne'er happened."  
"Things like those happen all the time. You can't avoid mistakes in your life. Now straighten up and show that you are the leader.", the blonde thought for a time. "How about we all sing songs from your homeland? I know there are wolves here everywhere. We might scare them off."  
Alasdair just looked at him and processed what he had heard.

After a while a rather creepy tune was heard among the men. Then it got louder and clearer after a while. It was the song of a man who fought for his loved one. The familiarity of the song gave the men some mental strength, the strength to carry on.  
After the first song passed, someone asked if he could wish for a song. Sure, next song was played by the 'merry men of the Celtic lands'.  
Francis even found they were rather professional. He liked their tune. Someone even brought out an instrument.

"Dae ye ken ony songs, Franny?", Alasdair now looked all but scared.  
"Non. I don't remember anything."  
"Bit ye stairted tae mind yer hame leid. Ye speak mair french wurds than fae th' time we met ye foremaist."  
"Hm… true. I don't even notice that. But you're right, the words come just like that."

The night became older and the songs fewer. At some point, the songs repeated themselves. They were still happy songs nonetheless. Everyone was singing until they didn't have a voice anymore. They took turns, they did their best until the sun arose again in the distant east.  
"This is where the air is the most chilly.", Francis commented, pulling the coat closer around his figure. It was still Alasdair's coat he was wearing. The redhead himself had gotten a different one in the meantime. Most of the Celtic Mercenaries but weren't suited really for winter.  
Little snowflakes started to fall.

"It's tae earlie fur that …", lamented Alasdair. He wondered what to do next. The town was still not in sight and most possibly there would be no access. When the town was in wilderness, there would possibly be a wall around it and then the main gate closed at night.  
"We just have to push through… There won't be a night like this again.", Francis promised. "Will you ride in the back? Especially in a time like this we might lose people. And I don't want that. I will lead the right way."  
Alasdair gave Francis a strange look. Then he nodded and obeyed, letting himself fall into the back of the convoy.

Perhaps it was strange that the latest member lead the convoy and the leader was in the back, securing that no one would get lost. But it was the best way to do, since Francis obviously could read a map and Alasdair knew who belonged to his band of mercenaries and who didn't.  
Alas, the town came faintly in sight when the sun had risen a little further.  
Francis already relaxed a little at the sight and cried the news towards the other people who passed it on to the next person in line. 


	8. Chapter 8

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
My native language is not English, so please excuse my poor grammar or use of words.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: M

Genre: Fantasy

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Kirkland (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll name him this way in this story… Everyone gives him another name.. *le shrug*

_

The mercenaries had finally reached the town and were now celebrating their survival in the wilderness in the inns of the town. The town called Aubigny was large enough to keep all of them, even though they had to spread across the whole town.  
Alasdair and Francis of course shared another room together. It was like they were the ruling couple over the mercenaries. Before the mercenaries had split up, the redhead had also announced that Francis was now co-leader and took one half of the mercenaries under his wing. The leader wasn't sure yet which half that would be but his minions agreed and cheered. Most of them liked Francis more than they had liked Arthur back then.

Francis wondered in the meantime, where the brother of Alasdair was. Was he doing alright? He didn't dare to ask his husband, Alasdair would possibly react rather sensitive upon this subject.  
Instead, he blonde haired male snuggled onto the other in the warm and comfy bed. The bed was actually made for only one person, but they just squeezed together and hoped for the best.  
"If it comes worse, i'll kip oan th' flair."  
"Aww… non, we'll find a different solution. Just wake me up, then."

But the night went rather unspectacular. Francis awoke in the tight embrace of the redhead, whom he felt sleeping behind his back. Everything was just so peaceful, that the Frenchman could have slept another hour or two.  
That was until he felt something long and hard being shoved between his legs and a light tugging on the hem of his pants. It obviously was Alasdair who was not asleep as much anymore. Then the hand that had been tugging on his pants opened them and slipped inside. Now this was rather awkward, yet not as awkward since they were married… after all…still the blonde froze.  
The slightly warm hand stroked over the blonde hair that was down there and then went over the French's manhood that slowly awoke by itself. The Scottish hand wandered to the end and retracted the foreskin, then slowly rubbed over the sensitive skin.  
It didn't take long and Francis shoved down his pants by himself and guided the other's manhood into his anus. The act itself took longer which was possibly because of the uncommon position they had. Stifled moans filled the air and soon both reached their climax.  
Morning sex was somewhat sensual, maybe better than the rough version at night. The two of them snuggled together for about half an hour or an hour and then got themselves ready for the day.

"That's one way to start a day."  
"Aye…"  
"I'm hungry, how about you?"  
"Ye ken me, A'm aye hungert.", Alasdair chuckled and kissed the younger one who returned the kiss sweetly.  
The two of them then went down to the main hall where 'breakfast' was served. Hall was but exaggerated. It was more than a larger room where no more than 50 men found place when they snuggled together.  
A lot of stories were told on the tables and Francis tried his best to follow those. At some time, it was Alasdair's turn to tell a story and the redhead told the story how Francis had joined his army and that they had become better ever since. Especially last night during which they almost had gotten lost.  
Now, the breakfast wasn't really a breakfast. The mercenaries had come at dawn and had slept over the day like never before. It didn't matter now as long as they were in safety and fed.

But safety never lasted long. At the same evening during their story-telling they got disrupted. Heavy bombing found place on the main gate that was already closed since all of the townspeople were inside. An attack was launched against the town!  
No doubt, the attacker wanted the town itself, the most possible way taking it by force.  
The mercenaries didn't have to think for long to defend the town that had given them shelter and something nice to eat.  
The archers helped those of the town and got onto the walls, aiming as best as they could at the attackers.

"Could it be that it is Arthur?", Francis thought. It had not been long since they separated, thus Arthur could still be around.  
"…A dinnae ken. Let's gang!"  
The two of them put on their simple armour and got their swords ready and ran for the main gate, which was made from strong wood… but then again was much likely about to break. It was put on fire.  
Then the gate flew open and the splinters hurt some of the people who happened to stand nearby – mostly just soldiers. The splinters that had been on fire, caused some of the houses to burn. The people were trapped.

"That was stupid of them. Now they cannot cross the pit around the town.", Francis commented and looked at the gate. Then he froze.  
There was a large creature that in short looked like a demon… There were horns, hooves, fire-breathing and a goat like beard. Just that the thing was on its fours and aimed to jump over the pit. The 'skin' or 'fur' seemed to be like out of metal, but dirty and oily at the same time.  
without any effort that diabolic entity landed more or less graceful in the town.  
"Canny (Careful), Franny.", Alasdair demanded.  
"I… I know.", but how do we finish that monster? Are we skilled enough?

But there was no time thinking about such things. Like in any battle, the opponent would continue and not wait for the other person to keep up. The goat-like creature stormed over the main road of the town, destroying about 20 houses on each side in that process. It was terribly fast. Alasdair stormed at it and tried to slay it with his claymore. The devilish thing simply swatted him off after the redhead had been able to cut one leg. Now at least it was unable to run…straightforward. With only three legs left, the thing ran over a few other houses, but only on one side of the town.

In the meantime the people who had been wanting to invade the town made their way through the pit and into the town.  
"Quick, stop them!", Francis ordered the few soldiers and mercenaries around him. They quickly obeyed and ran towards the invaders, their forces clashing together in that process.

Now it was the Frenchman's turn to attack the beast. It was difficult now to step over the smoking ruins the devilish creature had left.  
The blonde warrior hesitated a little, then he gripped his sword tighter and dashed forward. As usual, he was pretty fast. The beast couldn't follow the movements and didn't swat him off – that was until the sword got stuck into the metal-like surface of the creature. Francis tried to pull it out to get a second chance. Instead, the goat gripped the sword. The Frenchman quickly decided to leave his sword be and retreated.  
He saw the redhead standing in one direction. He looked grim and determined, rose his large sword. Francis noticed a small change in the wind surrounding him and made a hop to the side, just to avoid being smashed by a large metallic hoof. But then again, Francis had been too late. The 'goats' power was explosive after all. So even when Francis dodged the direct blow, the explosion hit him, pierced pieces that used to be parts of houses into his flesh.  
"Francis!", Alasdair screamed and dashed forward. Only millimetres parted him and the dangerous hooves of the goat. It was almost taunting to be scared of a rather harmless animal. Surely, a goat had hooves and horns, but was not really something to be afraid off … unless it caused explosions and could just trash houses within the blink of an eye.

Alasdair shuffled beside said hoof and grabbed his bleeding lover just in time to get out of the danger zone.  
"Francis, Urr ye a'richt?", he looked at the blonde, deeply worried. Francis was bleeding out of his nose and one of his eyes started to swell.  
"No time for that.", the blue eye that was intact stared at the sky that was causing sparks and it started to rumble here and there. Ozone was in the air. It had looked like bad weather all day, but now it came to a showdown apparently. "See that? Lead the creature out of town."  
"Bit…?"  
"Do as I say – just this once. I'll explain later!"

Still, Alasdair didn't let go of Francis and carried him into the direction of the destroyed main gate. The other mercenaries and soldiers followed him as Francis called them in promise to save the city. They simply overran the intruders that had led the goat here.  
The goat itself was hungry for enemies and followed them angrily. During that process, the goat destroyed a few more houses and just after it had left the main gate, lightning hit the goat right where Francis' sword had been driven into its head as lightning always searched for the shortest distance between sky and earth.

As soon as the cursed animal was filled, the electrons changing the way they were charged, the thing exploded on the inside and stood still. An eerie silence filled the air at once.  
It was expected that the demonic animal caused an almost insanely large explosion at any given time. Everyone shielded themselves against that.  
But time passed by with nothing happening.

When everyone slowly started to move again and realise what had happened, Alasdair's first concern was for Francis. There were still splitters of glass and metal all over the body. The armour and clothes had shielded a lot… but not the face for example. Luckily, there were no splitters in the face. It seemed like a miracle.  
"Francis, Urr ye a'richt? urr ye hurt a lot? speak wi' me.", Alasdair softly demanded. He was really worried.  
"I'm fine. This is just…", Francis plucked out one of the glass shards. The clothes had really caught a lot. Since the mercenaries armour wasn't as perfect as one of a proper knight, the clothes were thicker as they served as the most protection. "See? I'm afraid, the town is in worse shape. Seriously, does this happen everywhere we go from here? It started when you married me! Maybe it stops when we get divorced. That's it. divorce. Now!"  
Alasdair looked like a kicked puppy. "Ah don't wantae be divorced…Ah loue ye."

The town guards and some of the mercenaries caught the attackers that were about to flee. Those were cowardly lower class mercenaries – led by a knight who had apparently lost his small castle and now was murdering and robbing all he could. …He seriously didn't come that far, because luck had it that the prison had not been destroyed. The knight's small army however was asked to help rebuilding the town with which they soon started. The towns wall was the first to be repaired.

"It's bonny stuck in thare, isn't it? a'm aff tae git it oot fur ye.", Alasdair offered, grabbing for Francis' sword that was still stuck in the creature's skull. But he jolted back. In the very second the redhead had touched the handle of the sword, it felt for him like he had eaten something really horrible. He got nauseous and managed only a few steps away until he fell on his knees and threw up.  
Usually he was a rather tough guy but this had thrown him over. He still felt dizzy, and at the same time all the world's sadness seemed to fill his heart.  
What was wrong with that sword? Alasdair just wanted to cry.

"Are you alright? This is the first time someone else touched my sword…I always thought there was something special about it.", Francis said, looking into the redhead's direction. He decided that it was best to take care of the thing before someone else tried to pull it out. He set his foot onto the skull and with one firm pull, the sword was free. He sheathed it properly.  
Then Francis went to Alasdair and hugged him slightly, not knowing what to say really. He felt like he was the one to blame, but then again… It was rather difficult. The blonde sighed.

" …'m… A'm a'richt.", the redhead hesitated. "No… ah jalouse amurnay. A'm feelin' sae sad… ne'er felt dowie sin th' day faither left…s…yer sword is cursed."  
"I don't know. I wouldn't say so. The sword never did that to me. Maybe it is some kind of defence mechanism. No one but me can grab this sword. It's a good thing, isn't it? Imagine, someone wants to take my sword in a battle…"  
The colour only slowly returned into Alasdair's face. Francis helped him up and wrapped his arm over his neck so he could carry his still-sick friend. "Too bad, the metal is too hard for a blacksmith. Just imagine a suit of armour of that metal. It was pretty robust."

"Ye jalouse a lot o' hings as o' lately.", Alasdair looked up to the dead best. He was tired.  
"Do you think we're cursed? It has been the … the fo… no, third attack like this. First the rat, then the snake, now the goat. I don't see a pattern in there, just that some creatures have either become lunatic or they were demons. Do you think Arthur cursed us?"  
"Dinnae think he cuid hae dane that. He is able tae some magic… bit hee haw lik' this. 'n' he wis an' a' in danger mair or less whin th' rat appeared.", the redhead frowned.  
"Do you really think that?"  
Alasdair gave the blonde a weird look. "At least ah think that mah brother hud na time. 'n' ah think he wis juist as doilt. He cuid hae said something lik' 'beware my rat'. … or something similar."  
"Point for you. He never threatened with it. I just hope until we get the answer to all of this we can manage to stay alive." 

_  
Hardly a chapter has taken me so long.  
The reasons for that are two. One: I had an immense writer's block like I never experienced before. Two: I have been robbed about three weeks ago (on September 15th 2013), which threw me off emotionally because the guy who had robbed me basically smashed my face into pieces, I had my skull fractured below the left eye. I never had something fractured at all, so I kinda freaked out. But everything is back into place now, nothing visible is left and I also got my stuff back. … so I can also go on with my fanfiction after such a long pause.  
Thank you for your patience.


	9. Chapter 9

Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.  
My native language is not English, so please excuse my poor grammar or use of words.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: M

Genre: Fantasy

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Kirkland (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll name him this way in this story… Everyone gives him another name.. *le shrug*

_

Most of the houses in town were now damaged. The mercenaries either used their tents to repair and somewhat cover rooms that were halfway okay to sleep in or they put up their tents like usually. Alasdair insisted that Francis and him got a proper room to sleep in. Either he was fed up himself sleeping in the cold – it took a rather long while to heat up a tent – or he wanted to treat his lover just so well.

"…I don't know… I have a bit of a bad conscience … about this. The others have so many hardships."  
The redhead looked over to him. "I am going to explain this only one time, Francis, so listen well.", he paused a little. He would have liked to snap at Francis, but the blonde wasn't his subordinate. He had to be treated like he was on the same level, he concluded. It had not slipped past him that he had treated Francis rather rough the past days.  
"Ah admire that yer as noble as tae lower yersel' oan thair level. Ah wid too… bit th' point is that we hae tae save oor energy 'n' everything fur th' better. Ah ken we ur soldiers juist lik' thaim. We shuid be side by side wi' them… you're gey richt. Bit we wull ne'er be lik' thaim, even whin among thaim. Destiny hud it that made us thair gaffers. Amurnay th' ainlie leader, you're mah seicont in command. Whin amurnay thare, ye hae tae tak' care o' a' o' thaim. Alas…we hae tae sort oot hings wi' th' nobles, we hae tae deal wi' th' upper class society. Sae we hae tae hae a hing tae that. We hae tae git tae thair level tae enable th' wey fur oor 'lower class' mukkers. 'n' hawp me, oor fellow mercenaries wid be ower uncomfortable tae be among thaim. Ye cuid say that's fur they're nae used tae it. Bit it's enough fur thaim whin we dram wi' them…do ye git whit a'm waantin' tae say?"  
"Mmh… Oui, I think so. We are something like a staircase between sky and earth?"  
Alasdair grinned. "Whiles ye pure amaze me.", Francis made it sound so simple!

They soon went to bed. It was still night and they were still exhausted from the battle. However, Francis was lying awake for a long time still, thinking about this and that. He came to the conclusion that he couldn't keep hiding himself behind the excuse 'I don't know who I am'. He wanted to define a new self. He was Francis and he was someone. He could make a difference.

In the next morning, Francis proposed the idea to Alasdair that they should have more steps in the staircase. "We should have … people that are our subordinates but …eh… they stand over the rest of them. Administration should be getting faster, then. Let's part our mercenaries into four or five units. How many are they anyway? We should get things more fixed and efficient. Especially once we get to the king. We are mercenaries but we don't want to appear like fresh from the gutter, right?"  
The redhead furrowed his eyebrows and stared somewhat past Francis, clouded himself in thought. The idea wasn't so bad.  
"I also think that we should reduce the number of veterans. I find that there are too many. Maybe it is honourable to die in battle and maybe helpful that they care about our wounded… but still, they're no help when it comes to serious shit and they need also food and armoury and whatnot. Like I said, let's make it all more efficient. You possibly started out with a lot less people, but they're too many now."

Alasdair nodded slowly. "Howfur dae we git stairted? howfur did ye jalouse ye wid pick these… four or five … whit dae ye ca' thaim anyway?"  
"I had hoped you'd give me some input.", Francis looked crestfallen. "Don't you have any military knowledge? …Let's make a list. …Generals is something too high up, non? That would be us. … or me, you're the leader. Makes me General, the next thing… how about 'Colonel'?"  
"That soonds guid."  
"And how we find out who they are… we just form five groups and let they battle one on one until the strongest remains."  
"Then let's dae that."  
"Ah, but at first we shall help the town rebuild at least their city wall. No town should be without defence. And they'll be grateful."

The wall was quickly fixed with everyone helping to rebuild it. The houses would take more time, but at least their place was determined.  
The town people's attention was however drawn towards the front of their town where five smaller arenas were set up. Around each arena people gathered to watch men fight with each other. They fought only with their bare hands. Each arena was given a neutral person to watch for fairness.  
The battles took the whole day. On the next day, the results were set.  
Each of the five group consisted of at least 30 men in their best years. Strong men willed to fight to the bitter end. That also meant that the mercenaries had at least 150 people, plus Francis and Alasdair.

The individual 'Battalions' as these five portions were called from now on were led by the winners of the spontaneous tournament. They were as followed…  
Matthias Vintersen, a Danish fighter who was very skilled with his large Axe. He was a rather tall blonde man with wild spiky hair and sparkling blue eyes.  
Berwald Oxenstierna, a tall Swedish man with rather short blonde hair. He wore something called 'glasses' before his eyes. It was said that he was sometimes bickering with Matthias. That was rather weird because he hardly talked to anyone. His weapon of choice was a heavy club.  
Lukas Bonevik, a blonde man coming from Norway. He is not as tall as the first two Colonels, but he should not be underestimated. He has a calm gaze most of the time and wears a mystical curl. He is always surrounded by some green mist. His weapon of choice is a 'normal' two-edge sword.  
Emil Steilsson, comes from Iceland and has silver-blonde hair. It is rumoured that he is the little brother of Lukas, but how comes that they don't share their last name? However, Steilsson is despite his rather short height a serious opponent. He chose to use throwing knives as a weapon.  
Last but not least Tino Väinämöinen, a blonde man from Finland. His last name is rather difficult to pronounce. He has a friendly attitude. His weapon is a cane.

"How come such skilled warriors are among us and we have not noticed them before?", Francis asked upon seeing the five winners. Then he got up and spoke to them. "I am sorry but we cannot yet give you more than the rank and position... the command over 30 people. But surely, by time it will grow, and we will also grow in wealth. Please be patient with us. – of course with the position come certain privileges. When it is possible you will get to sleep in real beds in real houses, not tents."

But now it was time to carry on. One large group travelled further towards the king's place. A smaller group with all the elderly people had to go back home where they would join their family and try to help with farming and similar things. It would not be easy finding back into a society their turned their back to long ago.

As for the remaining 'Celtic Spirits', they wanted to find news about the king, the king's enemies in particular. Moreover they wanted to know what were those random animals that they met. It was most likely that the 'goat' had not been the last.

Their journey continued through the lands. Autumn was there and with autumn came a strange fierce wind that almost blew them away. Regret soon came up that they had left the secure walls of the town.  
"It's just a typical autumn, nothing to get lost about it.", Francis said, forcing his horse forward. When he saw a smaller tree flying by, he altered his opinion.  
Alasdair cried some command for the soldiers to join together and form a circle. They had to use shields and armoury to secure their little makeshift fortress. At first they were sure it was just something to wait until it was over. By nightfall it would be over. But by nightfall, the storm had increased and only thanks to rainfall with heavy lightning they saw the real catastrophe rolling by. A large hurricane that wiped just about everything out on its way was arriving to their place.

"Ah heard rumours that th' centur o' a hurricane… is wi' na win` at a'..", Alasdair remarked, seeing the thing coming towards them. When he looked at the thing he felt paralyzed. It crunched a hill and a larger variety of trees.  
"Do you really want to find out? Then go ahead…fool.", Francis murmured. But he also saw that there would hardly be a way to avoid that.  
The lot of them hopped back onto their horses and tried to ride away from the hurricane. It was a rather thick tornado at that, coming with several kilometres/miles per hour at them. This time the mercenaries rode rather undisciplined, more like a swarm to avoid the hurricane. But it was in vain. The hurricane altered its direction, moving almost a 90 degree angle and rushed towards them.

The horses with their burdens on their back were now galloping for their lives and those of their owners. It was nearly impossible to escape the hurricane, no joke. The left rear of the swarm was already grabbed and torn into the air in an endless ride in a circle. What really hurt or even killed those poor souls caught in the hurricane was when they collided with solid items.  
The difficulty apart from the terrifying experience of escaping a very large wind swirl was losing sight by the pounding rain. Some of the horses tumbled over obstacles; other horses fell over those horses. In the end, everyone was trapped in that hurricane.

There was no possibility of communication; the roaring wind was just too much.  
Francis felt isolated inside of it. He didn't know where he was. Neither did he know where was 'up' and where was 'down'. It was a miracle that he had not been crushed by something yet or that he had not puked yet. He looked around him, saw terrified faces… but in the middle of the storm, he saw a golden-red horse.  
The horse seemed to have the fun of its life. It was rolling round and round that it seemed almost comical. The blonde Frenchman knew that if he'd kill that one, the hurricane would stop its deadly dance.

Francis unsheathed his sword and tried to get a hold of himself, control where his body went and where it didn't. He had to get to the lower centre of the storm. From the angle he saw suddenly something large coming towards him. It was Alasdair's horse. The blonde had to quickly sheathe his sword again and slapped the horse off. It was a whole lot heavier than he had thought. Or it was just that the magic of the sword was gone when it was out of its sheath.  
Francis however waddled quickly towards his destination, dodging obstacles as they flew hazardously towards him. The weird horse down there didn't seem to notice him. Good for Francis, bad for the horse.

A loud shriek tore the air apart, the wind subsided and one by one the people, the horses and pieces of the environment such as rocks and branches fell to the ground.  
The horse didn't bleed when the blade had hit it; instead it was dissolving into dark purple smoke. Francis almost felt pity. The horse had been so pretty he surely would have liked to own such a thing. "Rest in peace…", he softly said and patted its neck.

After sorting each other out, they found out that just a small group was injured. And that was all. Maybe thanks to their good condition, because now that the mercenaries had been more organised, the training was also more intense. Everyone had become stronger and became stronger day by day. Some of the men even argued that those that had gotten injured had slept during their training.

"Are ye a'richt, Francis?", Alasdair said, coming towards his prodigy after glancing at his horse.  
"Oui, I'm fine. …It was such a beautiful horse."  
"H-hae ye lost yer horse?", the redhead gasped. Horses were one of his hobbies. He liked horses really much. Their attitude, the way they moved, their incredible way of usage…It was pretty much the perfect animal.  
"Non, don't worry. …The thing that created this hurricane had been a horse. It was gold and red in colour. I think it's one of those strange animals that seem to love attacking us now."  
"At least you're a'richt.", Alasdair pulled Francis close and kissed his forehead and cheek.  
The Frenchman just felt happy for the attention he received from Alasdair.

Very soon by time, the air turned colder now even as they travelled more south.  
"It's sae cauld, ah think mah **** froze aff."  
"Alasdair~", Francis had to giggle at the thought. "I could warm you up, but … not here and now. You need to learn to put off that silly Kilt."  
"Bit it's mah pride."  
"Then wear something beneath."  
"That'd be a pity."  
"It's only temporarily. Come on, it's going to be better for you. Or do I have to force you?"  
"…Nae.", Alasdair made a face. After their next stop it was the first time that Francis saw his lover in pants instead of a Kilt. He just wore the fabric of the Kilt wrapped around his tall figure several times.

What Francis liked most about the winter was when Alasdair got a red nose, tips of his ears and red cheeks. The Frenchman himself wasn't possibly in a better shape, but all he saw from himself was his arms, his nose maybe, but most of all the fog escaping his mouth. He found it almost mystical when the men sat on the campfires at night with their breaths comings out so visibly. He found himself drawn to another world.  
He was holding two cups with some hot drink in his hands and sat down on the campfire next to the redhead. He handed him a cup.

"If it continues to snow like this we have to make a winter break. It's no good for the horses to be exposed to the weather like this.", Tino, the Finn, said.  
There was an overall agreement, the horses were their most precious belonging. It would be a great shame if something happened to them.  
"Tae th' neist toon we aye need tae cross this ben. Thare is na ither wey.", Alasdair said, taking out a map and unfolding it. He took care that the map didn't get soaked with the snow even though the parchment seemed to have seen worse.  
"What sort of mountain is that?", Francis asked. "If it's too rocky, too many horses might go crippled…"  
"Th'n w' j'st t'k' th'm 'n th' l''sh…", the Swedish man said. He hardly spoke.  
"Wha…?"  
"We need to take them on a leash, he said." Tino translated. "I also hope we don't need more than one or two days to cross this mountain."  
"There's a path.", Alasdair explained, pointing to a small line on the map. "Th' map isn't ferr … up tae date, bit it shuid aye be thare."  
"I'd recommend we have a few people going beforehand and securing the way. When we give them spades they could also free the way from snow.", Francis suggested. "They'll grow tired, so we need to have the men take turns. Everyone will get a shift."


End file.
